People say all of this data erodes their privacy since Google will be able to correlate all of your data and figure out a lot about you – often very intimate details you probably wouldn’t be comfortable sharing with some business or even someone else.

There are a few things to consider:

Google makes it easy to control the information you share with them: just check the privacy options on your Android phone, the apps you use, and the Goole services you use.

Nobody cares: your private information isn’t all that private. There are thousands of people that do the same things you do, when you do them, where you do them, and even how you do them.

I suppose that broad information is more important than individual information. It makes more sense to study a group of people as compared to individuals because, the fact is peoples’ day to day lives are really not that interesting.

Ads served based on your interest are targeted to you because you’re part of a group of people that meet certain criteria. Assuming that Google, or any other organization, targets you specifically for ads, chances are that lots of analysis went into figuring out what you’ll be interested in which includes — you got it — analysis of others similar to you.

You might be worried about some governmental organization, or perhaps others, gaining access to your personal data. That’s a valid concern – see my first point.

In line with this privacy argument, many say they are helpless in their ability to control the data corporations collect about them. Really?

You are a consumer. Without you, corporations don’t have a reason to exist, nor do they have the basis for a reasonable income. The entire economy rests on consumption that’s ultimately driven by you and the millions…no…billions…just like you.

So the solution to controlling your privacy is simple. Don’t do business with corporations you don’t want to have your information. Need to do business anyway? Don’t use points cards. Pay in cash. Don’t answer surveys. There are a variety of other ways to protect your privacy.

In the end, get over it. You’re not the centre of the universe and you, me, and about 99.999% of the population are not very interesting. The only exception: if you’re doing something illegal and are already in the sights of some low enforcement or governmental organization.

• April 28 2013 – chapters one to seven (7 chapters)
• May 2 – chapters eight to eleven (4 chapters, 4 days since last post)
• May 6 – chapters 12 to 14 (3 chapters, 4 days since last post)
• May 12 – chapters 15 to 18 (4 chapters, 6 days since last post)

Since the novella, called Glue, is being published on Twitter, which may or may not keep the novella intact in the future,

I am publishing it here as it gets updated, and in chronological order.

You can get the original novella here https://twitter.com/Bitchuation

April 28 2013

I will now attempt to tweet a novella called GLUE.

CHAPTER ONE.

Amsterdam. pic.twitter.com/K7BKflK17w

It was difficult for you not to assume the worst after the way your funeral went down. The whole thing seemed like a parody of itself.

Like anything else, the #&%# was only valuable because everyone wanted it and nobody had it.

You’ve become the receptacle for everything forgotten, and an impulse can only be ignored for so long before people begin to wonder.

Everything that used to be a foregone conclusion was for sale—cheap—and regret was a dead battery. pic.twitter.com/47HfFZtGmG

The window reminds you that you haven’t been in one place for more than a week in four years. pic.twitter.com/m78b98AsnM

A message: Paris by train. Overnight.

H always said, “The hours are great if you agree to work whenever they want you to.”

After all, it’s easy to imagine the worst and the pay isn’t too bad, either. Why else have you been saying yes?

But now there’s a new definition of permanent, and the same page is something for everyone to get off of.

The smart move is to pull up stakes and head for the nearest cliché. But you don’t.

The hotel in Paris is a womb. No message from D. pic.twitter.com/PfnWMUtxk0

Your first memory of her was her neck. Neither of you said anything worth hearing that night, the first of three at the Nacional.

pic.twitter.com/heZW25aLnx

Where the entire 6th floor is wired like Marilyn’s bedroom. But that was okay. You were supposed to be married.

The American liaison had a worried look. And the joke about ordering breakfast into the lamp didn’t help.

Still…

A successful trip all in all, even if death was on the menu and your employer owns your history. pic.twitter.com/i5wr2KBFJT

Never heard if they found Luis or not. Hopefully not. pic.twitter.com/umLUHYsc6M

A text from D. breaks the spell: Meet with S at 2000 hrs at Apt 23. _______ restaurant at 2130hrs to follow.

If S was in Paris, then so was the #&%#. Good to know. pic.twitter.com/mbon8vRYXo

END OF CHAPTER ONE.

CHAPTER TWO.

this kid. this FUCKER. that look on his face. arrogant piece of…what, we’re supposed to treat you like a rock star?

like you’re the first person who ever had an idea? fucking kids like you are hanging out in every fucking starbucks in the world.

somebody would have come up with the #&%# eventually, why are you so special for coming up with something everyone predicted?

turner’s fucking cat food if he doesn’t PHONE yes? BEAT hello? BEAT hi, ted, i was BEAT yes, i know i BEAT i don’t really have one right now

BEAT i absolutely will, yes, yes– BEAT fuck

END OF CHAPTER TWO.

CHAPTER THREE.

By the time you reached the restaurant, things had changed.

You asked D about Madrid, and she smiled an answer.

You asked again and she said not to worry, but everything sounded like a worst-case scenario with fuck-you money around the edges.

You had to admit you’d lost the thread months ago. Maybe if you could get the #&%# it would buy you some time.

Dessert. The room was a lot louder than it was an hour ago, and D knew it.

“Have another glass,” you said. She refused, and checked her watch. That’s when you spotted M shoulder his way through the door.

Under your breath you said D’s name. She looked at you and then the door.

You made a mental note of the exits. M sat without a word and gestured for a waiter. pic.twitter.com/R6sQAXsxpJ

H used to say procedure was a masking agent and nothing more, but he also kept repeating himself in the way vermouth sometimes does.

When M mentioned something about Madrid, D lowered her head. A series of questions followed, and she answered. His drink arrived.

Her deference was nauseating. Every “sir” that came out of her mouth felt like a dagger.

You looked at M and thought: A perpetual smirk must be earned, otherwise it lives alone.

“Who are your heroes?” What kind of question was that? You needed to get out of there.

M’s stale sweat smelled like failure. You downed your drink and said, “The only people who enjoy this kind of thing tend to suck at it.”

You glanced at D. The crack in her veneer was threatening to become a crevasse.

To cover, you said something about H and the company. Something amusing.

“Fuck fair!” M said. “It’s not like waving a wand!”

Loud laughter from the Americans at the next table turned your heads. pic.twitter.com/Oze0O62QMS

And when M’s hand moved, you didn’t hesitate. Did they think you were a fucking child?

Mayhem. The French have a word for what came out the back of M’s head: sweetbreads.

END OF CHAPTER THREE.

CHAPTER FOUR.

what? wait a minute—what was Michel doing at les halles? how he even know to be there? BEAT BEAT

where’s the girl? BEAT

no. wait for them to move. she’s obviously dirty, and he must know that, but let’s see what he does.

where’s sonnenfeld? BEAT well, keep looking. BEAT my guess would be rome…

END OF CHAPTER FOUR.

pic.twitter.com/rH3JKDGst6

CHAPTER FIVE.

At the safe house her tears came right on schedule.

Your stomach tightened, and any and all conclusions crawled away to look for sustenance or an exit.

She wanted to hear herself talk. That’s when you learned you can be lonely anywhere.

It’s late and your attitude is nowhere to be found.

You always said you deserved each other, but the fact is you would be mad if she agreed. pic.twitter.com/5FUQL7I80p

You both knew M stepped off the merry-go-round and got exactly what he asked for.

There’s nothing to eat or drink here. She sleeps with her back to you. pic.twitter.com/7eLKCpQ6Ji

She might be your age when you wake up, and who knows what she’s seen. pic.twitter.com/Bl5rMVcSRW

Follow your instincts before the numbness becomes a symptom instead of the other way around.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE.

CHAPTER SIX.

well, if she confesses and he kills her, great. the question is will she kill him first? BEAT

no, but i can–i can–yes, we can–BEAT (off, left) sherrill, can you–get gary maloney

END OF CHAPTER SIX.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

She said you fell asleep with your fists clenched last night, but she didn’t seem worried.

You know what H would say: The beats are a map, not a clue.

Thirty minutes later you’re driving, D beside you.

The smell of ignited sulfur filled the car, followed by the thin smoke of D’s ultra-light. There was nothing to go back to.

Then she mentioned the #&%#. That S had told her where it was.

Suddenly all those off-the-record chats with H made perfect sense to you.

That’s why she was early for the S meeting. Remember? The door was open.

As soon as you saw D’s jacket on the floor you should have known this was just part of an attempt to move things along.

You drew your gun, and started breathing through your mouth. You called her name, softly.

No response. The bedroom next.

S was on the floor. Light from the bathroom highlighted his blood. The sound of the sink running his requiem.

Then complete silence. Then darkness. A beat. D appeared at the door.

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN.

May 2 2013

CHAPTER EIGHT

he is a fucking tumor, and you are going to cut off his blood supply. i want him on a graph yesterday

BEAT sherrill will sort all that out. anything else? BEAT

and would this be buffet style or a la carte? BEAT okay. eyes on her. no touching. yet. BEAT how do you know about that? BEAT

gary, listen to me: you do not want to be in the blast radius of the #&%# situation PHONE

yes. BEAT yes, sir. BEAT i anticipate retrieval of all assets within 24 hours. i have my best man in front of me now.

BEAT yes, sir. BEAT jesus. BEAT why are you still here? what the fuck are you smiling at?

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

You put your gun away, although part of you wondered why. She nodded at S.

Three passports. 500 Euros. A boarding pass. Alitalia. pic.twitter.com/GyKMBy2siV

“I guess if there isn’t some sort of surprise, then what’s the whole thing for?” D said before stepping past you.

An hour later you were at Les Halles. An hour after that, M arrived.

No question it was her. Refusing to discuss the courier in Madrid, then this. Were you asleep?

Remember what H said: A teaspoon is about earning trust; a tablespoon is something else altogether.

Clearly the plan had been changed without your input, and the consequences couldn’t be nullified with the usual cocktail of distractions

And especially not while you’re driving. pic.twitter.com/VXxEU9YJuM

END OF CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

gary maloney’s real name is not gary maloney.

not gary maloney felt it was a bad idea for any government agency to know his real name. for obvious reasons.

all the people who knew gary maloney’s real name are dead. some from natural causes.

on the way to the airport, not gary maloney made three phone calls from three different disposable phones.

the first two were dictated messages to voice mail. the third was a conversation that lasted nine seconds.

he discarded all three phones before entering the international terminal at dulles.

at the gate, he uploaded one encrypted file from an internet cafe computer. pic.twitter.com/M2QotXLpgW

thirty minutes later he was on a plane to rome. pic.twitter.com/K6frxtSCnQ

END OF CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She stood in the parking lot and asked what you meant. Listening to her lie was like having your skin pulled off in one strip.

Then again part of you would like that. The simplicity of it. You said nothing.

You were both quiet for awhile. No tears this time, you noticed.

Then she told you everything, and when she was finished you were strangers; anything you shared disappeared.

The hole it left behind would become your new obsession.

In the audience-friendly version you’d stay together, but it’s never going to be as good as you remember. Time to move on.

She feels invaded, judging from her expression, so the only thing to do is book her a round trip to somewhere she won’t stand out.

The subtle phrases H left behind suggested a shortcut, but if everyone knows about a shortcut it’s not a shortcut anymore.

The conclusion was determined from the start, and there isn’t a word for the taste in your mouth

END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN

May 6 2013

CHAPTER TWELVE

not gary maloney took a taxi to the de russi. pic.twitter.com/DJVzsVbJIW

once there, he showered, shaved, and went downstairs to the bar. pic.twitter.com/buoccIFSU9

ketel one on the rocks with lime. forty-two euros. and a short pour to boot. pic.twitter.com/xsQ7LLQpPd

he wondered what he would do with the gay italian after he got what he needed.

the air in the room changed, and not gary maloney looked into the mirror behind the bar.

a well-dressed woman had entered, trailing a handful of pilot fish disguised as people.

sibilant whispers traced her name in the air. it sounded familiar. american.

not gary maloney motioned for a refill. an actress, he guessed. he wasn’t sure, though.

because not gary maloney hated movies.

END OF CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

As you stare at the ceiling of the Pantheon, you imagine the other life. pic.twitter.com/FS29EjACk8

The one where you weren’t recruited. The one where you quit to save your marriage.

The one where some geek didn’t invent the #&%# while on the payroll and then drop off the grid.

But everyone has a different definition of popular, and in this case the numbers do tell the whole story.

When Paolo saw your face he also saw his future. He was too much of a pro to run. And not exactly young anymore.

By the time you sat he had arranged his expression into something life-like.

His smile was at half-mast and his eyes were focused on the ending.

The world is full of misplaced ambitions, and the only cure is a crash rewrite with no interruptions.

You both knew your hand had been forced. Not that it helped.

He would hear what you have to say, and he would repeat it to his captors. He might even be allowed to live.

Never trust what you want, or you might end up staring at the big blue marble from a great height.

When you were done feeding him, he filled the silence with talk about Walter. Something about their anniversary.

He had switched from wine to bottled water. In preparation. pic.twitter.com/xJDLKS9ytH

Not a minute goes by where you don’t think it’s pointless, but people need something to do with their hands.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

it’s all there. you can count it if you like BEAT pic.twitter.com/ynh6NcsPxf

no, i’d like to keep the socks on, if that’s okay BEAT i, uh, i work in…technology. security BEAT exactly. for your computer BEAT PHONE

BEAT i’m sorry, i need to take this. can you…i’ll just step in here BEAT yes BEAT put him through BEAT yes, sir

BEAT my man is in rome, and that estimate is still–BEAT yes, sir. i understand, the absolute moment–BEAT that shouldn’t be necessary BEAT

BEAT BEAT listen, dani, was it? you should…you should just go BEAT yeah something’s…i’m just not…it’s not a good time.

BEAT i appreciate that, i just need to…i’m just going to stay here for a bit, have one more drink. pic.twitter.com/QJNqIYZUEc

END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

You don’t feel anything, so you decide to take another. pic.twitter.com/DgjCNyGJzW
View photo

Not everything can be avoided when your head is in a hurry and reappearances remain a fixture.

The pattern is clearly random—what you need to remember is the one thing that eludes you.

So you wait, and waiting always makes you think of the mouse.

You were in Grand Cayman. 1997. Alone in the bedroom of a resort home belonging to a target. pic.twitter.com/6TNSEujxi4

Judging from the spread, selling black market munitions paid very well. Until it didn’t.

A strong scratching sound drew you to a sliding door, then to your knees in front of the metal column opposite the door handle.

Inside the column: a mouse.

Obviously it had climbed in through the top and was now trapped; not enough clearance to escape from the bottom.

Droppings indicated it had been there awhile. pic.twitter.com/mUf0dJiOdD

No way to save it without taking the door apart.

You went back to the chair and listened to the mouse struggle while you waited for the target to arrive.

And you started thinking.

What did the mouse know about its own predicament? How long before it died of starvation and exhaustion?

Was it cursing itself for crawling in there? For being curious? Had it been trying to find food for its family? Maybe it fell in.

Was its family wondering where it had gone and why it hadn’t come home? Was it usually good at this, or a fuckup?

How did it decide when to rest and when to struggle?

Was it making deals with the mouse God in order to obtain a miraculous escape? Were you the mouse God? Were you the mouse?

Then you thought: how many trillions of creatures, humans included, have died without anyone knowing? Or caring?

The kind of thinking H encouraged you to abandon.

Maybe the mouse now had some cosmic significance because you were aware of its imminent mortality.

At least it wasn’t in some lab having cancer injected into it. It was dying, but it wasn’t being killed.

Then again, there were no steel columns before Man showed up. So maybe it was on us.

You thought about killing it. But how? You couldn’t reach it and you weren’t in the habit of carrying fast-acting mouse poison.

The noise continued.

Nothing to do but add it to the suffering you ignore in life. That we all ignore.

After you considered that list item by item, you went to the door again, to see how it was assembled.

No screws, nothing. It would take a spot welder to solve this.

And there would be a lot of explaining to do.

You went to the chair again, sat, and listened. Two hours later the scraping sounds stopped.

An hour after that the target arrived, and you went to work.

A week after that you were promoted.

pic.twitter.com/mbln7YPKX3

END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

From: DBHarriss@cicgov.org/sz/asst_dep_sec

Subject: JCOS/DCI briefing preparation

This memo is not to circulate outside Station Zebra in its present form.

It is not to be quoted or referred to in communications to any other organizations, branches, sections, or divisions.

The following diplomatic traffic is now being intercepted: Amsterdam/Paris, Paris/Madrid, Paris/Rome. Contents attached.

As of this writing, the whereabouts of both Chamasmany and the #&%# are unknown.

Chamasmany was last seen in Madrid 72hrs ago, when our Spanish courier escorted him to a rendezvous with Dunsmuir at location Q.

Dunsmuir was supposed to escort Chamasmany to Paris, where he would meet Agent _____ and MI5 analyst Sonnenfeld.

Instead, Dunsmuir arrived in Paris alone, and Chamasmany and the courier have disappeared.

Dunsmuir has not contacted her employer since she arrived in Paris.

Whether the Paris meeting took place is unclear, although luminol tests reveal recently cleaned bloodstains in the bedroom.

We are awaiting DNA results and stonewalling all MI5 enquiries re: Sonnenfeld as per your instruction.

After the killing of Michel Maraval, Agent _____ and Dunsmuir stayed overnight in safe house 9 and separated the following morning.

These events lead us to believe Dunsmuir, the Spanish courier and Chamasmany entered into some sort of arrangement in Madrid.

Such activity falls outside the guidelines set forth in the Functions and Structures Chapter of the Station Zebra Directive of 11/11.

Such activity, should it be confirmed, would be actionable.

It is unclear whether Dunsmuir and Agent ______ are working in concert. The Cuba case is being reviewed for indicators.

It is unclear why Michel Maraval showed up at Les Halles and whether or not he was expected by Agent _____ or Dunsmuir.

It is unknown what events led to his killing.

Special Action Service France views Maraval as officially separated as of 02/09, and has no interest in pursuing the matter.

There is no record of any embarkation attempts by Dunsmuir under any of the various aliases known to SZ/CIA/NSA, et al.

Agent _____ is believed to be in Rome.

SZ has engaged the services of Five Continents Imports to track, acquire, and question him about all of the above.

In addition, Five Continents will attempt to track Dunsmuir, with instructions not to engage unless so ordered by SZ.

All available assets have been engaged to track and acquire Chamasmany, and his immediate family is now in custody.

SZ analytics continue to monitor for any indication that #&%# has been deployed.

END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

So far the benefit of the doubt is the only way to distinguish what’s real from what’s been surgically enhanced.

The effort to keep your eyelids open was cruel.

You saw him enter Paolo’s apartment and you saw him leave twenty-two minutes later.

American, early 40s. Thinning hair. Glasses. Off-the-rack suit. Briefcase.

You followed him. He was heading for the address you gave Paolo.

Repetition is key, key, key. pic.twitter.com/2Jck9g7NGC

END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

pic.twitter.com/jAk7vGpkeP

She was supposed to feel better than this, she thought as she scanned the bar.

Forty-five minutes ago it was empty except for the staff. Now it was a scrum of flushed faces and noisy narratives.

She listened without hearing. A habit.

As she raised an 18£ martini to her lips, she wondered how all these people could afford to live in the city.

Of course she could now afford to live anywhere she wanted, for as along as she wanted.

That was the problem, she realized: A tested fantasy is no longer a fantasy.

She wanted to be done with this martini already. And the next one.

Because after the fourth or fifth one the image would start to fade, a little.

The image being the look on _____’s face when she told him about the arrangement.

She watched as the slow spread of disappointment found every part of him.

Scratch a cynic and you’ll find an idealist, she thought, in the parking lot. Had someone written that?

Did he understand it wasn’t just about money, it was about freedom?

Was the disappointment because she didn’t include him? Was he envious?

She finished the drink and signaled the bartender. Three down, two to go…

END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Here’s the money quote…

You often don’t see what’s messed up about your country and culture until you step outside of it.

And so even though this article is going to come across as fairly scathing, I want my American readers to know: some of the stuff we do, some of the stuff that we always assumed was normal, it’s kind of screwed up. And that’s OK.”

Nicely said

Hearing of Mortimore’s unique talent, Ronald Bradstock noted his golf ball throwing record of over 121m (396ft). And with that the battle of throwing random object was created.

Held at a former military aerodrome (airport) the two athletes separated by 31 years in age battled throwing objects like snooker cues, the aforementioned willies, water balloon, Guinness book of world records (to set the Guinness book of world record for throwing a Guinness book of world records), vinyl record, and of course a kitchen sink.

The winner – watch the video to find out.

It’s an incredibly simple and elegant – a way to easily open the ever-frustrating thin-film plastic packaging found surrounding many food products.

Take cookies for example. You buy a package of cookies – like the ones in the photo. They’re great when I’m out – maybe on a walk in a park. Leaving the package closed until I need it is practical, and I think the manufacturers of cookies like this know it’s practical.

The thin plastic film in which these types of cookies are packaged is nice, yet it’s really hard to open without a pair of scissors, a knife, extreme will, or just plain luck.

Rather than doing the typically Canadian thing – make it really hard to open the package, especially without the right tools – the package includes a simple instruction, like the one in the picture.

And, characteristically un-Canadian – it actually works! You pull where the arrow points to reveal a little tab – which you can actually hold between your fingers! Pull on the tab to reveal a string made of slightly stronger plastic – pull around the package and – amazingly – the package is open!

Easy to understand. And it works. Each are rare – and practically unheard of together. Except on packages of cookies. From Europe. Sad for us.

Sometimes the Like button is politely placed at the bottom of an article, sometimes at the top.

Other times the Like button floats beside whatever I’m reading – I scroll, it scrolls with me. I don’t want to click the Like button, but it beckons – remember to click me – you Like me, I know it. So click me. A gentle reminder to click Like on your way out.

And other times you don’t get to see a webpage until you click Like. It’s called a content locker. You only get access to a web page if you click Like first. But I don’t know yet whether I like whatever I have not yet read. I move on. The site has lost a visitor.

But what if I Don’t Like a webpage? The site’s owner only wants to know whether I Like the page, but I don’t, so what can I do? Comment in the friendly box at the bottom of the web page? Yeah right! That’s almost criminal.

So I invented a Don’t Like button. Click it to tell me you don’t like something. I’ll keep track of the number of clicks too. I can take negative feedback.

In fact, I can take both positive and negative feedback. And I give both positive and negative feedback too. There are two sides to each side of a story – the positive, and the negative – good and bad, Like and Don’t Like.

It’s nice to be positive, yet I feel I’m missing half of the story – there’s got to be negative side, a side that explains what’s not that great, what’s not present, what’s just plain bad. What’s wrong with negative feedback?

Like. Don’t Like. Both are positive feedback for a company, a brand, a person, or whatever. You don’t know what you Like until you have seen something you Don’t Like.

It’s evident that you’re not clear about this simple fact.

The lines at the checkout counters are very long. Longer at the cashier-staffed checkouts.

The lines at the self-checkout counters are deceivingly shorter and seem faster for some reason so, like a moth to a light at night, consumers eager to get out of the cattle line, and back to their projects at home join the lines at the self-checkout counters.

What the lemmings don’t know is that they’re guilty by association the moment they join the self-checkout line.

When I arrive at the self-checkout terminal, I am greeted by a voice that plays ‘good cop, bad cop’ – it’s both friendly and stern. It says Hello and then silently alerts the supervising cashier (who happens to be monitoring 9 of these terminals) that I’m a criminal just waiting for an opportunity to get away with getting something for free.

The terminal makes it clear that it’s watching – you, Home Depot, recently added a small screen that displays what the terminal sees – it sees my face and it sees what I am doing in front of the terminal. It’s very 1984-like.

I hunt for the damn barcode and try to scan it, fighting with the scanner – trying to gently convince it that it is indeed looking at a barcode by twisting and turning the item I am trying to buy in contortions that it was obviously not designed to do. When I am contorting along with the thing I am trying to scan, I get more convinced that this self-checkout thing is a bad idea.

The scanner finally beeps and the friendly voice immediately chastises me: I did not put the item I just scanned into the bagging area quickly enough.

In fact the stupid terminal has already alerted the overworked cashier that this criminal needs a closer look, along with all of the other eight criminals that just finished contorting and have similarly been chastised for being to slow to put their item in the bagging area.

I finally pay, under the watchful gaze of the damn tiny monitor. I accidentally put down an empty coffee cup I have been carrying around onto the bagging area and guess what? “Please wait for the attendant” – having been frisked and having convinced all involved that it was just an empty coffee cup, I finally pay and leave, but not before the faulty security scanner screams in that annoying alarm sound. Alerting frazzled clients and staff that I am now trying to get away with something expensive. The fact that I just paid hundreds does not make a difference.

I just keep walking at this point. If someone wants to come after me at this point, I welcome his or her attempt to stop me after that awful experience.

I could actually put up with this awful experience – pay me to go through it.

I am doing you a favor, Home Depot, using your damned self-checkout counters. You need just one underpaid cashier to monitor 9 counters. I don’t care that each counter costs you money – it was your choice to buy them and it’s the cost of doing business.

Give me a 15% discount for using your self-checkout counter. I need some type of benefit in exchange for being treated so badly. What’s next, Home Depot, body scanners?

No, I am not a criminal. I am a frustrated client that despises your checkout process and especially your self-checkout process.

You’ve advanced beyond Loblaw – they at least don’t have the stupid monitor.

Wal-Mart is much more attractive. I can get my drywall elsewhere. At least Wal-Mart has cashiers, has relatively quick lines, and makes me feel like a client instead of a criminal.

Maybe next time I’ll write to you about your delivery service.

According to an IT World article – Fake Twitter followers: One more thing Justin Bieber and Bill Gates have in common – Bill Gates and Justin Beiber have fake Twitter followers. IT World used a service called socialbakers, which happens to provide paid analytics and other services, to ferret out the fake followers.

So why is it necessary to know whether Twitter followers  are fake?

It’s not important at all!

We are a social lot that are susceptible to the herd mentality. If a bunch of people find something interesting, chances are that you’ll check out whether it’s interesting.

As a result, people often buy fake Twitter followers to boost their follower count, which works to get more ‘real’ followers.

Twitter users want others to follow them to get their message out to more people (a follower gets a copy of tweets the followed person posts). What’s wrong with that?

So what distinguishes a ‘fake’ follower (meaning a follower created by an automated process for the purpose of following other accounts) from a ‘real’ follower – an account that’s created by someone that posts tweets, follows others, and retweets?

The differences, according to socialbakers, are pretty loose:

• Follow more than 50 others and with less than one follower (what’s less than one follower? why not just say zero followers?)
• More than 30% of tweets use some keywords (like diet, etc)
• 90% of tweets are retweets
• And a range of other arbitrary criteria

I know many real people that have accounts that meet a lot of socialbakers stupid criteria!

Do you think there’s anything wrong with using fake twitter followers?

A voice over is the voice of the narrator you hear in commercials, videos, and other media. Voice overs are done by talent called a voice over artist or voice over provider.

You need a super-silent workspace to do voice overs – sounds like traffic, your cat meowing, or maybe your kids in the background can detract from the quality of your voice over, regardless of how good you might sound.

So, having finally created a super-silent workspace, I had a persistent problem of a buzzing sound in the background. I knew the buzzing was from some electronic device because it was so consistent. I tried to find the source of the buzzing by trying a lot of different things.

I tried tuning off the light (fluorescent bulbs emit radio waves which can be picked up by electronics like microphones), unplugging things near my workspace, I moved closer and further from the mic, tried making my workspace even more silent – nothing worked.

I use a Macbook Pro for my multimedia work – this is relevant because it was the problem’s source – my MacBook Pro was causing the buzzing sound!

Solution: unplug the MacBook’s power and run on battery – buzzing gone!

So, less power to you – and more silence!

Former British PM Margret Thatcher dies at 87

We are all bound by events we don’t influence nor play a role in yet many follow them and are influenced by them as of they were somehow personally involved. I feel this way about Thatcher. She was the first politician that made politics more human for me – moved politics from the sterile environment of television and newsprint into a more tangible form for me.

The Iron Lady was famous for her views and hard lines – here are two quotes that characterize her broad-reaching legacy:

“If you want something said, ask a man; if you want something done, ask a woman.” – Speech to National Union of Townswomen’s Guilds Conference on May 20, 1965

“I am extraordinarily patient – provided I get my own way in the end.” – European Council meeting on March 31, 1982

RIP Margret Thatcher.

White House Statement from the President on the Passing of Baroness Margaret Thatcher…

“With the passing of Baroness Margaret Thatcher, the world has lost one of the great champions of freedom and liberty, and America has lost a true friend. As a grocer’s daughter who rose to become Britain’s first female prime minister, she stands as an example to our daughters that there is no glass ceiling that can’t be shattered. As prime minister, she helped restore the confidence and pride that has always been the hallmark of Britain at its best. And as an unapologetic supporter of our transatlantic alliance, she knew that with strength and resolve we could win the Cold War and extend freedom’s promise.

“Here in America, many of us will never forget her standing shoulder to shoulder with President Reagan, reminding the world that we are not simply carried along by the currents of history—we can shape them with moral conviction, unyielding courage and iron will. Michelle and I send our thoughts to the Thatcher family and all the British people as we carry on the work to which she dedicated her life—free peoples standing together, determined to write our own destiny.”